


Sauntering Vaguely Downwards

by gluupor



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Reverse Big Bang 2020, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Good Omens Fusion, Embedded Images, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23332693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gluupor/pseuds/gluupor
Summary: They’ve known each other since the Beginning. Not theBeginningBeginning—they didn’t meet until after the War in Heaven, where they kept to their own sides, or until after the subsequent Fall. It wasn’t even until after the Exodus from Eden, but only by a couple minutes. They’ve witnessed the rise and fall of empires, sampled all the cuisines the world has to offer, and weathered several very silly fashion trends.Andrew doesn’t think they’re friends, exactly, but it is natural to become accustomed to the presence of the only other being who has been around more or less consistently for six millennia. It wasn’t anything more meaningful than that.A Good Omens AU where Andrew is a grumpy angel, Neil is a sharp-tongued serpent, and it takes them literally six thousand years to figure out they belong together.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 42
Kudos: 634
Collections: AFTG Reverse Big Bang 2020





	Sauntering Vaguely Downwards

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pinch hit I wrote for this year's Reverse Big Bang! Big thank you to my artist @florianem for the wonderful artwork and for being so patient. Thanks also to my beta @Leahelisabeth for the lightning-fast beta read. This very closely follows the cold open from Good Omens episode 3 although there are a few book-only additions and a couple lines borrowed directly from the book.

### The Garden of Eden, 4004BC

Andrew scowled at the sky. It was beginning to darken and he had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t going to like this new weather phenomenon the Almighty had just invented. It was called “rain” and was supposedly necessary for plants to grow outside of divinely magical gardens.

Being sent down here was his punishment, no matter how much Kevin insisted that he was being honoured. It stank of a setup, as if he’d been doomed to failure. It was for that reason he’d given the two humans his flaming sword. Hopefully _that_ would put a kink in whatever ineffable plans were in the works. He didn’t like feeling used.

“Huh,” said a voice behind him. He glanced over his shoulder; it was the snake from the garden, the one whose forked tongue had caused all this madness. It stretched out into its near-human shape, with reddish hair that matched its scales cascading in ringlets and piercing blue snake-like eyes with a vertical pupil. The demon blinked twice and ruffled his black feathered wings. “That went over like a lead balloon.”

Andrew ruffled his own white feathers and looked away without responding. He’d been taught that demons were temptation made flesh; looking at this one for long wasn’t a good idea.

The demon took a step closer. He carried a faint odour of smoke and brimstone. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant, just a reminder of what he was. “I said—”

“I heard you,” snapped Andrew, choosing to say something over having to listen to the demon’s honeyed voice. It was a slip, one he wouldn’t let happen again.

The demon hummed, not sounding irritated enough at Andrew’s peevishness for his liking. “Did that seem like a setup to you? I mean, great big tree with a ‘do not touch’ sign on it? If She really didn’t want them to eat the apples, shouldn’t She have put the tree far away, or on top of a mountain or something? Otherwise, it seems like a bit of an overreaction to me.”

“Wasn’t this your plan?” asked Andrew, surprise causing him to speak up again when he’d vowed to stay silent.

“My plan?” echoed the demon, poleaxed. “I didn’t have a plan. All I was told was to get up here and cause trouble.”

“All you did was talk to her.”

“I’ve been told my tongue has the ability to get anyone in trouble,” said the demon with faint pride. “I’m Nathaniel, by the way.”

Andrew didn’t deign share his name in return. “That seems a little too angelic for you.”

“Well, I _was_ an angel, wasn’t I?”

“Until you Fell,” said Andrew, stiffly. He’d known several of the Fallen before the War and they all deserved worse than Eternal Hell.

“I didn’t really have a choice, did I?” countered Nathaniel. “With my dad, what else was I going to do? Besides, I didn’t so much Fall as I was dragged down.”

“Your father?”

Nathaniel shuddered. “Him.”

“Him?”

Nathaniel nodded at the ground and widened his eyes suggestively. “Yeah. You know, _Him_?”

“Oh,” said Andrew, taking in Nathaniel’s features again. He’d never seen the Adversary outside of his monstrous demonic form, but he’d heard rumours that he was as beautiful as he was terrible. “That sucks.”

“It really does, Angel.”

“That’s not my name.”

“It’s not like you told me what else to call you,” Nathaniel pointed out cheerfully.

“What’s it matter?” asked Andrew. “It’s not like we’re ever going to see each other again.”

### Mesopotamia, 3004BC

It felt like a tingle across his skin. The awareness of another divine being fizzed through him, causing Andrew to set his shoulders. It was most likely Kevin, back to whine at Andrew some more. Or possibly Nicky; sometimes he came down to entreat Andrew back home and to call him stubborn when he refused. It wasn’t Aaron, who had visited Earth to say his piece regarding Andrew being as obstinate as a mule about six hundred years ago and hadn’t returned since.

Andrew had been set the task of keeping an eye on the humans and he’d agreed, despite knowing that it was meant to be a humiliation, a punishment. He wasn’t going to break his word now. He wasn’t a liar; that was the domain of the Fallen.

He braced himself for more of Kevin’s arguments. He knew them all off by heart now: that he had nothing to prove, that it had been a thousand years, that his exile could be ended if he’d apologize, that he could _come home_. Andrew always scoffed through them. He wasn’t going to apologize for something he wasn’t sorry for. Tilda had been a poor excuse for an angel and she was better off smitten. Smoted? Well, dead, anyway.

Andrew caught the scent of smoke and brimstone just as someone who wasn’t a lecture-ready Kevin sidled up beside him, a someone who Andrew also had no interest in seeing. They hadn’t been in contact for a thousand years, but he was aware of Nathaniel’s actions. He hadn’t returned Below following his meddling; instead he’d stuck around and kept creating as much trouble as possible. He seemed to have the same assignment as Andrew, just on the opposite side.

“Hey, Angel,” Nathaniel said, grinning unrepentantly at the side-eyed glare Andrew shot him.

“Nathaniel,” acknowledged Andrew stiffly.

“You remember me!” said Nathaniel happily. “But I changed my name actually. You were right. It wasn’t really _me_ , was it? I’m called Daniel now.”

“Daniel?” asked Andrew, letting judgment creep into his tone.

“I liked the -niel ending, so I kept it.”

“Hmmm,” shrugged Andrew. “If you say so.”

Daniel slumped. “You don’t like it? Still too angelic?”

“I do know about five Daniels,” admitted Andrew. “They’re all dull as dirt. It doesn’t suit you, is all.” He clamped his mouth shut; he hadn’t meant to admit that last part.

Daniel didn’t show any sign of having heard Andrew, staring into the distance at the sight he’d been watching before being disturbed.

“Awfully big boat, innit?” Daniel asked. “I’d heard your side was drowning a lot of people but they could all fit on board, couldn’t they?”

“Not with all the animals,” said Andrew, indicating the long line of paired animals waiting patiently to be herded on board. He had no idea why they were acting so docile but he suspected divine intervention.

“So She really is planning on killing all these people?” asked Daniel, flabbergasted. “I thought it was a lie. It sounds like something my side would come up with.”

“She wants to teach them a lesson, I think,” said Andrew. “And apparently when it’s over She’s going to unveil a new thing called a ‘rainbow’.”

“Sounds shiny,” said Daniel.

They watched the progression of the animals for a few minutes before Daniel shifted, his attention caught. “Hey, look,” he said, pointing, “that unicorn’s getting away. Oi! Your unicorn is getting away!”

“There it goes,” said Andrew, watching the pure white horned beast gallop past.

“Oh, well,” sighed Daniel. “At least there’s another one.”

Andrew side-eyed him again, waiting for him to realize his error. When he didn’t, he felt compelled to say, “You’re aware that there’s a reason they’re taking two of each, right?”

Daniel blinked at him. “Redundancy?”

“I really don’t want to ask this,” said Andrew, burying his face in his palm, “but where do you think babies come from?”

“They grow in women, don’t they?” asked Daniel, visibly confused.

“How do you not know this?” demanded Andrew. “You’re a demon, here to provide temptation. Surely you know about lust and sex?”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” said Daniel, his face turning the colour of his hair—it was still long, but the curls were wavy instead of being tightly coiled—as he sputtered, “but I don’t see what _that_ has to do with… you know…” he made a motion with his hands that Andrew suspected was supposed to indicate childbirth. He’d never actually witnessed childbirth but he doubted it was supposed to splat like that.

“Sex is for reproduction,” said Andrew. “Well, at least when it’s between a man and a woman. Otherwise it’s just for fun.”

“But sex is sinful,” argued Daniel. “How can it also be necessary for reproduction? That’s counterintuitive!”

“Those are the rules.”

“They’re completely arbitrary! It’s like they’re designed to be broken. Who’s coming up with these ridiculous so-called rules?”

Andrew just glanced upwards.

“Huh,” said Daniel. “You sure you’re the good guys?”

Thunder sounded in the distance as heavy rain began to fall.

### Golgotha, 33AD

Andrew wasn’t surprised this time by the demon’s sudden appearance. He’d appeared at several events recently, each time with a different name. Andrew had gotten used to him being around—he didn’t look forward to it, of course, but he didn’t mind as much as he initially had.

“Still going by Balthazar?” Andrew asked.

“No,” he replied, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “You were definitely right about that one. I’m Abram now.”

“Abram,” repeated Andrew. “Okay.”

“Still no?”

“A little too popular for my taste,” said Andrew. “It’s all the rage now, but in a few years I’m sure it will seem old-fashioned.”

“Whereas your name is presumably timeless, Angel,” said Abram with a shit-eating grin.

“Precisely,” said Andrew.

“I’ve been meaning to thank you for arranging the murder of Julius Caesar,” said Abram. “I was given a promotion.”

“If you got promoted, why are you still here?” asked Andrew blandly. “And why would it get _you_ a promotion, anyway?”

“I was nearby,” explained Abram. “I had no idea it’d even happened until I got congratulated. No one would believe that an _angel_ was responsible for it.”

“I was wondering why I didn’t get admonished,” scoffed Andrew. “He deserved it. He _burned books_.” He’d been there too late, arriving as the flames had licked through the Library of Alexandria. All that unique knowledge, gone in a flash. He’d saved what he could, mostly books of prophecy, and kept them safe. If the humans weren’t going to take proper care of them, he would.

He knew that technically he was supposed to try to redeem the wicked, but some people didn’t deserve redemption and he didn’t care if killing them added to Hell’s numbers for the End of Days. Caesar wasn’t the first warmongering tyrant or abuser he’d arranged to be killed and he certainly wasn’t going to be the last. If Above didn’t like it, they could go choke.

Abram gave him a considerate look. “Tell me something,” he said.

“It’s moronic to wear black in the desert,” replied Andrew dryly. “I know you’re going to the whole evil aesthetic but it’s not worth dying of heat stroke over.”

Abram rolled his eyes. “Answer a question for me, then,” he amended.

“Only if you answer one of mine,” bargained Andrew.

“Easy enough. How did you end up here on Earth?”

“I’m here to do my duty of swelling the ranks of Heaven in anticipation of Armageddon,” said Andrew rotely.

“No, I know that’s why you’re technically here but why really?” insisted Abram. “I can’t imagine Above is any fonder of humans than anyone Below. Especially given Her penchant for smiting them.”

“I was responsible for the discorporation of another angel.”

Abram raised an eyebrow. “And that didn’t result in you Falling?”

“She was the one who should have Fallen,” argued Andrew. “She was cruel and violent. I didn’t do anything directly, just led her to condemning herself.”

“So it’s punishment for daring to think for yourself,” said Abram.

“Why are you here?” returned Andrew.

“Better than being down there, innit?”

“Fair enough,” allowed Andrew.

They lapsed into silence as they watched the man in the clearing being nailed to a cross and hoisted into the air as he screamed in pain.

Abram winced at the sight. “Is this one of yours or one of ours?” he asked in an undertone.

“Neither,” answered Andrew. “This one belongs to the humans.”

“Harsh,” said Abram. “What did he say that pissed them off so much?”

“He told them to be kind to each other.”

“Oh, yeah, that’d do it,” grimaced Abram. He hummed thoughtfully. “You think I can take credit for this, too?”

### Rome, 41AD

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Angel.”

Andrew shifted his attention from his meal to the red-headed demon. This was the first time he’d ever seen him with his hair cropped close; it suited him. He’d also found dark glasses somewhere to hide his supernatural eyes.

“Why’s that…?” Andrew trailed off to give him a chance to share whatever name he was currently using.

“Alexander,” he replied. “But you can call me Alex.”

“It’s a little too Greek for me,” said Andrew. “And outdated. I think Caligula would suit you better.”

“That one’s already taken,” said Alex. “I’m here to tempt him, actually. Not that it should be hard.”

Andrew humphed in agreement.

“What brings you to Rome?” asked Alex. “I would have thought it was a little too hedonistic for you. I’m taking credit for it.”

Andrew paused. “You’re taking credit for… Rome?”

“Not all of it, just the,” Alex waved his hand in a vague circle. “I’ve told the guys Below that all the bread and circuses were my idea. They think humans have the mental capacity of earthworms so they don’t believe they could come up with something like this on their own.”

“That really works?” Andrew had always been under the impression that Above was watching his actions closely, but possibly not if Below was letting Alex get away with this. He’d assumed the mix up about exactly which of them was responsible for Caesar’s murder had been accidental oversight, not systemic incompetence.

“It’s super easy,” said Alex enthusiastically. “Getting credit for Caesar’s murder gave me the idea. You should do it too! Find someone who’s generous and good… granted, it’s probably going to be harder for you to find than it is for me…” he trailed off, looking concerned, before shrugging it off. “You never told me why you’re here.”

“I’ve been sent to influence a boy named Nero. I’m supposed to get him interested in music,” shrugged Andrew. “Plus, I’ve been enjoying the baths and the food.”

“Food?” repeated Alex, half-excited and half-disgusted. “You eat?”

“I don’t need to, obviously,” said Andrew. “But have you tried human food? Why wouldn’t I eat it?” He’d been served date-palm cocktails with nutmeg and crushed lemongrass in Gomorrah and he’d never looked back.

“What’s that there?” asked Alex, peering at Andrew’s plate with unconcealed interest.

“Oysters,” replied Andrew. “They’re a little slimy at first, but absolutely delicious.” He held one out for Alex to try.

Alex slurped it down and made the most comically distressed face after he swallowed before frowning in consideration and nodding. “Not bad, not bad. I’m beginning to see why tempting people into gluttony is so simple.” He looked around almost frantically before pointing seemingly at random. “What’s that? Can I try that?”

“Those are figs soaked in honey,” said Andrew in approval. They were a personal favourite of his. “Good choice. Although, they may be a little rich for a first-time food eater.”

Alex seemed to take that as a challenge and Andrew felt the unfamiliar desire to laugh at his resulting expression when he ate one whole.

“You know,” said Andrew slowly, “since we’re both here to do our jobs, there’s no rush. We may as well have lunch and then I can show you the baths.”

“Have you been practicing your temptations?” laughed Alex. “You’re already better at them than I am.”

“It was just a suggestion,” said Andrew, pulling away slightly.

“That’s all a temptation is.”

“You can say no.” He didn’t like the insinuation that he would force Alex into accepting.

“So can humans. It's to my side’s benefit that they rarely do.”

### Kingdom of Wessex, 537AD

Andrew tried not to frown over his meal of pottage, fatty pork, and weak ale. He knew the innkeepers had given him their best cuts due to his status and that their poverty wasn’t their fault, but he couldn’t help desperately missing the lush fruits and rich oils of the Mediterranean. He craved the mead he’d had in the Merovingian Kingdom that had practically inebriated him with its fumes alone.

He had no desire to be in this damp, rainy country—especially not trekking through the marshes—but he’d been assigned to insinuate himself as one of the knights of King Arthur’s Round Table. Although Andrew liberally interpreted his commandments from Above, frequently bending their rules to the point of breaking, he’d never outright disobeyed before. So here he was, on a muddy, windy island, travelling alone through the backwoods.

The miracles he performed were mainly to alleviate the suffering of the poor—wretched people who could be decent, honest, hard workers if given the chance and released from the oppression bestowed by their feudal lords. Happily, this meant he was doing what he preferred; namely, arranging for the untimely deaths of jerks.

He was in this _particular_ armpit region because he’d heard rumours of a man, a so-called Black Knight, who was causing trouble in these parts. Not real trouble, like murdering people or livestock indiscriminately, but the kind of trouble that got everyone riled up and fighting each other. It wasn’t evil—Andrew was intimately acquainted with evil—it was more of a nuisance.

Andrew was halfway through his subpar meal when the object of his search came striding into the small inn, black armour clanking loudly.

“I hear you’ve been looking for me—” a familiar voice said before it cut off. The knight flipped up the faceplate of his helmet and peered out with blue snake eyes. “Angel, is that you?”

Andrew told himself that he was surprised and ignored the large part of him that had expected—half-hoped for, really—this particular identity reveal. “Black Knight,” he greeted dryly.

“It’s Christopher,” he replied, taking a seat across from Andrew and waving over the innkeeper for a plate of food. “I should have known you were around—there have been too many deaths that make people happier recently.”

“And your forked tongue is getting everyone into trouble,” added Andrew.

“It’s not like it matters in the long run, does it?” asked Christopher, taking a large draught of the ale he’d been served. “We’re cancelling each other out.”

“Almost makes you wonder why we bother at all,” said Andrew, skirting close to something he’d been keeping close to his chest for the last eight or nine hundred years.

“Blind as they sometimes are, they’ll notice if neither of us are making any progress sooner or later.”

Andrew had to concede the point. Years of careful observations of the responses coming from Above had taught him that he had a much longer leash than expected—honestly, it seemed that no one actually _cared_ what was happening on Earth as long as there was a more-or-less steady stream of souls swelling their ranks. Kevin was the only other angel Andrew had seen recently and he was pretty sure that Kevin showing up to nag him was more habit than anything these days.

Andrew didn’t mind his work so much, but he would prefer there was someone else he could delegate to in the case of being sent to locations that were cold or snowy or unpleasant in some other way. Actually…

“We could make a deal,” he offered, but he’d waited too long to speak. During his musings, Christopher had managed to start a bar fight. Andrew sighed and waded into the fray.

He didn’t think about his idea again until later that evening, once everything was settled and Christopher had flitted off to who-knows-where as he was wont to do. It was a good idea, thought Andrew. It would keep; it wasn't like either of them were getting any older.

### Constantinople, 1020AD

“What kind of deal?”

Andrew didn’t startle as the demon took his place on the ramparts next to him, looking out over the city. He’d felt his presence a fraction of a second before he’d spoken and Andrew was an immortal magical being. He didn’t jump in surprise. Or get surprised at all. By this point he’d been on Earth for approximately five thousand years. He had literally seen it all.

“Have you thought of going by Constantine?” he asked. “I can see you as a spoiled Emperor.”

“Ha, no,” was the reply. “It’s Stefan, now.”

“Been in East Francia recently, have you?”

“They’re calling it the Kingdom of Germany now,” shrugged Stefan. “No matter. I like this name. It’s going to be the one that sticks.”

“If you say so.” Not that Andrew believed him. He might trust the demon more than he’d thought possible when they’d first met, but he had thousands of years of evidence backing up his scepticism.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” said Stefan, sounding discouraged. “One of these days I’ll find the one you know.”

“Then there’ll be no reason for us to meet like this anymore,” said Andrew lightly. “I only put up with you to hear what ridiculous moniker you’ve chosen.”

“I think I have other attributes you enjoy,” smirked Stefan.

Andrew set his jaw and looked away. Yes, he found the demon attractive. He had eyes. It didn’t mean anything and it certainly wasn’t the reason he kept seeking him out. He cleared his throat. “The deal,” he prompted, changing the topic abruptly. “We keep cancelling each other out. What if, instead of us both going to the same place, only one of us does and performs both the blessings and temptations? We’ll have half the work.”

Stefan hummed thoughtfully. “That could work,” he agreed. “But can you handle having to perform temptations? You didn’t react particularly well the last time I suggested it.”

Andrew bristled. “If you can handle blessings then I can handle temptations.”

“There’s nothing to them, really,” said Stefan, seemingly choosing his words carefully. “You just offer options. I’ve never been able to come up with something worse than the stuff they do to each other.”

“They do have imagination,” nodded Andrew.

“And just when you think they’re more malignant than Below can ever be, they suddenly show more grace than Above ever dreamed,” said Stefan, shaking his head.

“It’s the free will. Gets me every time.”

“The point is that they can choose whether to be good or bad. They’re not on a defined side like we are. Each one of them has the capacity to be either and it’s entirely up to them.”

Andrew considered what he was saying. “Not quite,” he argued. “That only applies if they all start off equally, doesn’t it? It’s a lot easier to be good when you’re born into wealth in a castle than into poverty in a pigpen.”

“And yet those who are born into wealth have the most opportunity to do evil,” said Stefan. “Our ranks are chock full of them.”

“You’re saying that being born poor makes people inherently better?” asked Andrew dubiously.

“Nah, it’s more that they tend not to be bothered by these big moral quandaries,” said Stefan. “They’re too busy just surviving day to day to have time for good or evil.”

“I think you just proved my point,” said Andrew.

“Still,” said Stefan, neither conceding his point nor refuting Andrew’s, “they get to choose, is the thing.”

“What would you choose, if you could?” asked Andrew, interest piqued. “If you were free?”

“I dunno,” replied Stefan. “I’ve never thought about it. No use getting my hopes up for something that isn’t ever going to happen.”

### London, Globe Theatre, 1601AD

Andrew was watching a man stumble through his monologue, anxious director yelling tips from offstage. He was pretty sure this play was going to be a flop without a miracle intervention. He cocked his head in consideration and let his magic go. He was starting to get bored and this Shakespeare guy seemed like he was okay. Nobody would likely remember him, but at least now, thanks to Andrew, one of his plays would do well. Andrew had just let go of his power when he felt a presence he hadn’t since their deal had been made. It hadn’t occurred to him at the time that if one of them was doing the work of both, they’d never be in the same place at the same time.

“Where the Hel—Heav—” probably-not-still-Stefan stumbled over his words. “Where have you been? I haven’t been able to find you for _yonks_.”

“Are you still calling yourself Stefan?” Andrew asked idly. He did a double take when he caught full sight of his face. “What is that growing out of your chin?”

“It’s a beard,” he replied, sounding prim. “It’s in fashion.”

“It’s a crime,” insisted Andrew. “Do you actually think it looks good?”

“No,” replied the demon, slumping in defeat. “And I’m nameless right now. Can’t find one I like.”

Andrew hummed. “What about Neil?” he suggested.

“Neil?” He said it strangely, like he was tasting it on his tongue.

“You said you liked the -niel ending of your original name, so why not use only that?” said Andrew sheepishly. “I dunno, I think it suits you.”

“Alright,” replied the newly-christened Neil, smiling softly at Andrew. “I’ll try it.” His expression hardened a moment later. “Don’t try to distract me from being annoyed that you disappeared. What have you been _doing_?” There was something almost like fear in his voice. “I thought you’d returned Above or something.”

“No,” replied Andrew instantly. “I wouldn’t do that.” He hadn’t consciously admitted it, but he had no desire to return to what had once been his home. Five and a half thousand years had changed his views on that subject. “It was just… remember the fourteenth century?”

“...Yeah?” said Neil slowly.

“Wasn’t it the _worst_?” It had been a hundred years of mind-numbing boredom, nothing that was remotely worth anything happening at all.

“It was fairly dull,” allowed Neil.

“So after I got through that, I took a nap for the fifteenth century,” Andrew said. He’d just been so _bored_ he needed a break. He ignored the fact that part of his reasoning had been that he hadn’t seen a certain demon for a long while and was starting to worry that he might no longer pop up to periodically bother Andrew now that they had their deal. He definitely hadn’t surrendered to a century-long nap to prevent himself from thinking about him.

“What, for the whole century?” asked Neil.

“Eh, mostly,” said Andrew. “I got up around 1432 for a bathroom break, but otherwise, yeah. Why, what did you do?”

“I, uh, got a commendation,” said Neil, rubbing the back of his neck. “For the Spanish Inquisition.”

“You started the Spanish Inquisition?”

“No, I didn’t expect it at all,” said Neil. “I mean, I was _in_ Spain at the time, hanging around in the nicer parts at cantinas, you know. But I didn’t actually know it was happening until I received the commendation. Then I popped over to check it out and got out of there right quick. Hieronymous Bosch was a weirdo and you’re lucky his soul isn’t on your side.”

“Interesting,” said Andrew. “That sounds _much_ better than the fourteenth century.”

“What did you do after your nap?” asked Neil.

“I went down to Florence for a bit—met a painter named Leonardo, bought an early sketch of something he called the _Mona Lisa_. Then I found out he was an inventor so I explained my idea for a flying machine to him and he made it and called it a helicopter.”

“Nice,” said Neil approvingly.

“While I was waiting for him to finish with that, I went to see the artwork in the Sistine Chapel. Have you been?”

Neil shot him a dirty look.

“Oh, right,” said Andrew apologetically. “I forgot.”

“You forgot I’m a demon,” said Neil flatly.

“Not _forgot_ forgot,” said Andrew. “We’ve been enemies for thousands of years, of course I know you’re a demon. It just slipped my mind for a moment. I forgot you couldn’t go into churches.”

“It’s the consecrated ground,” explained Neil. “And I _can_ walk on it, it’s just uncomfortable. But the painting is nice?”

“It’s ridiculous. You’ll get a kick out of how white everyone is. And you won’t _believe_ what they think the Almighty looks like.”

### Paris, Conciergerie prison, 1793AD

It had been a trap. Andrew felt stupid even thinking that to himself as _of course_ it had been a trap—he’d suspected it was a trap from the get-go and the closer he looked into it the more trap-like it had appeared—but he’d walked into it anyway. He’d had to, there was a possibility that Aaron was actually in danger. Despite the fact that they hadn’t spoken or interacted since before the Flood, they were still brothers. Andrew would always step in to protect him. And now, with the restriction on his power, he couldn’t even miracle himself out of this mess.

It was Drake’s doing. The fiend might be a Duke of Hell now, but before the War and the Fall he’d been one of the Cherubim, the protectors of the Throne of God Herself. At that time, before his demotion to Principality, Andrew had been a Power, a warrior angel, resplendent in his golden armour. Drake had singled him out, offering to train him as one of the Cherubim, and at first Andrew had been flattered. But time had shown Drake’s cruel and possessive streak. When he’d tried to tempt Andrew over to the side of the Rebel Angels, he had resisted, knowing that whichever side Drake was on was the wrong side. He doubted Drake had forgiven or forgotten his refusal in the intervening millennia.

The first sign that Andrew had that things were hinky was a couple years ago, around the time the French started beheading their monarchs. He received a message from Above that he was being sanctioned for his unacceptable use of power. He was limited to performing only pre-approved miracles. At first he’d been concerned that they’d finally cottoned on to his deal with Neil, but something sat wrong about the decree. It hadn’t been delivered personally by Kevin, for a start, who had been Andrew’s direct superior Dominion since the beginning.

He’d shaken it off, not about to contact anyone voluntarily to double check the decree. In retrospect, it would have been smarter, if infinitely more annoying, to just talk to Kevin.

When he received word that Aaron was in Paris and trapped, he hadn’t thought, he’d just acted. He hadn’t even bothered to change his normal wardrobe, which was too expensive to go unnoticed in Paris these days. He’d been detained almost instantly and sentenced to public execution. Without access to his usual powers, he had no way out of prison.

Drake had come himself to gloat once he was locked up and had left him at the mercy of a sadistic guard named Proust. The plan was simple. He couldn’t be killed, not by a guillotine nor by any other human means, but if his body was incapable of sustaining life, he would be discorporated. His incorporeal form would be drawn back Above, but he could be waylaid and captured instead. Drake apparently had plans for him and the eternity he was planning for them to spend together.

“Now, what’s a boy like you doing in a place like this?” asked a longed-for voice, suddenly materialized in the corner of his cell. Andrew felt the absurd inclination to cry in relief as the familiar and comforting scent of smoke and brimstone permeated the small space.

“Neil,” he breathed out. “Or whatever your name is now. I’m glad to see you.” He couldn’t even pretend indifference to the demon’s presence.

“Still Neil,” he said, standing from his crouch and stretching. “I find it suits me.” He gave a significant look to the dank, blood-stained walls. “Unlike the locale.”

Andrew opened his mouth to explain but snapped it shut. This whole situation was a plan executed by Below; he had no idea how far up the chain it went or whether or not Neil had any involvement in it. He didn’t believe he would, that he would ever do anything to hurt Andrew, which was a revelation to unpack later during less dire circumstances, but he didn’t want to take a risk. “I was craving crepes,” he said. “Thought I’d pop across the Channel.”

“Dressed like an aristocrat?” asked Neil dryly.

“I may have miscalculated.”

“What don’t you just poof?” said Neil, making an exploding motion with his hands. “Miracle yourself away?”

“I’m in trouble for using too many frivolous miracles.”

Neil’s eyes widened. “Do they know about our deal?” he asked in a whisper. “Do they know about us?”

“There is no us,” replied Andrew. “We’re practically strangers. Now if you don’t mind…” he held out his chained wrists expectantly. “Let’s go for lunch.”

“Probably not looking like that,” said Neil with good humour, but he effortlessly snapped his fingers and Andrew found himself suddenly unchained and outside of his cell, dressed in the garb of a common guard.

The shouts from inside his former cell indicated that Neil had swapped his position with Proust’s and he couldn’t find it in himself to care that the human was going to be executed in his place. It couldn’t happen to a more deserving individual.

### London, St. James’ Park, 1862AD

Andrew was glaring at a duck when Neil approached from his blind side.

“What did that duck ever do to you?” asked Neil.

“Male ducks are called drakes,” answered Andrew, before he thought better of it. He’d still never revealed Drake’s role in his French Revolution happenings. He still didn’t know if Neil knew, or at least knew of, Drake.

“Right, but that duck has little to do with a certain Duke of Hell who orchestrated the whole Reign of Terror to get his hands on you,” said Neil, answering all of Andrew’s musings at once.

Andrew stilled for a moment and then purposefully forced himself to move naturally. Neil didn’t comment, simply tossing a handful of breadcrumbs to the multitude of ducks that had immediately begun swimming towards them as soon as Neil had joined him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Andrew. He watched curiously as the ducks started climbing over each other’s backs, pushing smaller ducks under water with their webbed feet. “What kind of bread is that? Did you do something to it?”

“Nah, they’re trained,” said Neil easily. “They’ve witnessed so many clandestine meetings between different factions that they have a Pavlovian response to two men—or in our case, man-shaped creatures—standing or sitting together.”

“Different factions, is that what we are? I would have called us enemies.”

“We’ve been enemies for almost six thousand years. That’s basically friends,” said Neil cheerfully. “Besides, you know as well as I do that we have more in common with each other than with our respective remote so-called allies.”

“Fair enough,” said Andrew.

“Any plans coming up?” asked Neil.

“I’m thinking of opening a book shop,” Andrew replied, much to his own surprise.

“I meant more along the lines of blessings or miracles, but okay,” blinked Neil. “Wait, really? A bookshop?”

“Yes,” Andrew insisted, doubling down on the idea that had hit him in a flash less than ten seconds previously. “I have quite a collection of books, you know, that I’ve saved over the years.”

“I thought the point of having a shop was to sell books?”

“Not a second hand bookshop,” said Andrew dismissively. “I’ll just make it musty and unpleasant to outsiders and closely watch everyone who enters until they’re so uncomfortable they’ll leave without buying anything. Plus, I’ll have a back room for anything really valuable.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out,” said Neil. “Seems a little too permanent for my liking.”

“It’s not like you and I aren’t permanent,” Andrew pointed out. “Barring any disasters we’re here until Armageddon, being immortal and all.”

“I know,” replied Neil. “I just don’t like being tied down.”

“I’ve noticed,” muttered Andrew. Neil never stayed long whenever they met, always leaving Andrew behind to go off on some new adventure. “Don’t you have a flat here?”

“Sure,” shrugged Neil. “Here and in three dozen other places. They’re all pristine and look as if no one lives there, because no one does. Won’t you get tired of London? There’s so many other places you could go.”

“I’ve already been,” huffed Andrew. “We’ve both already been everywhere.” He shook his head. “Where are you off to next?”

“I’ve got to go to Hull for a quick temptation,” said Neil.

“Can you also carry out a tiny miracle while you’re there?”

Neil wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, but…” he trailed off and sighed. “Okay, you know that thing we’re not talking about? How I interfered with a certain male duck’s plans to kill your corporeal form in Paris?”

“What about it?” asked Andrew snippily.

“Those in charge were not particularly… thrilled with me,” said Neil at length, shifting uncomfortably.

“Did they hurt you?” demanded Andrew.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” said Neil with a cocky grin. “They couldn’t prove that I didn’t just bumble my way into the situation and muck it up by accident. They do not have a lot of respect for my intelligence. Anyway, the thing is that I’ve gained a lot of unwanted interest lately.”

“I guess I’ll do my own miracles for a while,” said Andrew. “At least until they stop watching you so closely.”

“And… listen, you’re not going to like this, but I need a favour. I need you to get something for me.” Neil fiddled with the pocket of his overcoat. “As insurance, in case things go really wrong.”

“What kind of something?” asked Andrew warily.

“I don’t even want to say it out loud, so I wrote it down,” said Neil, fishing a slip of paper out of his pocket and handing it over. He adjusted his top hat and looked away, as if he wasn’t interested in Andrew’s reaction.

Andrew unfolded the paper, chills running up his spine. As soon as he read the words _holy water_ he almost recoiled, flinging the paper into the duck pond to destroy evidence it had ever existed. “ _No_ ,” he said violently. “Never.”

“Andrew, you have to,” pleaded Neil.

“That is the only thing that can actually kill you,” Andrew hissed. “Not discorporated, dead. Forever. Irrevocably. And, wait, did you call me Andrew? You know my name?”

“We’ve known each other for six millennia, of course I know your name,” said Neil.

“Oh. Well, you’ve never called me that before.”

“You didn’t give me permission,” said Neil impatiently. “Stop trying to distract me. I need it; I don’t _want_ to use it but it’s the only way I can escape them if they come for me. You _know_ what they’ll do to me. They might not have the imagination of humans, but they have thousands of years of experience.”

“I won’t let them hurt you.”

“You can’t stop them,” insisted Neil. “Just give me the…” he gestured at the pond, where the soggy piece of paper had sunk out of sight.

Andrew considered Neil’s words and the expression on his face. “No,” he said again. “I can’t.”

“You won’t, you mean,” said Neil hotly.

That wasn’t true. Andrew physically couldn’t bring himself to give Neil a way to end himself permanently. _I can’t lose you_ , he thought helplessly. _I can’t do this alone_.

But Neil couldn’t hear his thoughts and Andrew wasn’t about to speak them aloud.

### London, 1941AD

Andrew’s car was pushing 90mph as he wound his way through London’s streets. It wasn’t as if anyone was out; the air raid sirens had sounded less than twenty minutes previously and everyone with any sense was in their shelters. Andrew had sense, but he was also an immortal being whose bookshop was under his own divine protection. At least he was driving with his headlights off—actually, he wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

The reason he was frantically weaving through London instead of sitting safely in his shop with a hot cuppa and earplugs in was that at some point in his extended life he had made the moronic decision to care about a reckless demon. He’d really thought he was smarter than that.

Neil had called his shop earlier, only staying on the line long enough to give Andrew a location. A location of a _church_ , which was somewhere Neil had no business being. As Andrew had promised that he’d come whenever Neil called, he had no choice but to go.

It was an attempt at a compromise. Neil had been shirty with Andrew for decades after he’d refused to give him holy water. Even the thought of doing so still left Andrew queasy. It was just so final and deadly. An accidental drop of the stuff and Neil would be lost forever. And Andrew had gotten very used to his continued presence, thank you very much.

So, in lieu of holy water, Andrew had given Neil the phone number to his brand new dingy old bookshop and told him that no matter where or when, Andrew would answer it and come to him. He wouldn’t let the denizens of Hell take Neil without a fight.

Although what demons could possibly be doing with Neil in a church boggled the mind. There was a chance that he was in trouble with _angels_ , but Andrew likely would have heard about it before it got this far. Plus, the implications of that were so awful that Andrew didn’t even want to imagine it.

His car stopped less than a foot from the church’s front doors and he was out of it and through them almost before the engine had stopped running. He slowed to a walk once he got inside, not wanting to disrupt the tense standoff even more than his appearance had already done.

His eyes narrowed. Those weren’t demons _or_ angels. They were humans. How had Neil, who had access to _divine powers_ , let himself be cornered by three measly humans? Not only cornered, but held at gunpoint. If that idiot human’s finger slipped even slightly, Neil would be discorporated and returned Below. Neil was almost vibrating, hopping from foot to foot and hissing in displeasure and pain. Consecrated ground, Andrew realized.

“Neil,” said Andrew warily. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that Mister Josten here tried to interfere in our operations,” said the man holding the gun, with a thick German accent.

“Really?” sighed Andrew. “You’re hanging out with Nazis?”

“I think that it’s fairly obvious that I didn’t choose this situation,” said Neil, with a full body shiver. “Like I’d be here with that sitting out in the open.” He started to nod towards the font of holy water, before the man cleared his throat and pushed the gun harder against his forehead.

“How’d this happen?” Andrew asked tiredly, quickly losing his already fraying patience.

“Oh, I lured them into a trap,” said Neil flippantly.

“I think you’ll find that you’re the one trapped,” said one of the other Nazi spies, this one a woman.

“Really?” said Neil. “Because I’m pretty sure that there’s a bomber on its way here. This building is going to be little more than rubble in a little over two minutes.” He gave Andrew a significant look. “It would take a _miracle_ for any of us to survive,” he said significantly.

“Oh for—” grumbled Andrew. “What if I’d been five minutes later?”

“You couldn’t be,” said Neil, with simple confidence. “I knew you’d leave instantly and drive as fast as possible to get here.”

Andrew shook his head. “I could have hit traffic, or some other blockade.”

Neil frowned. “I didn’t consider that. Oh, well. You’re here now.” He glanced back at the man with the gun. “You’re wasting your last opportunity to get away.”

“You’re bluffing,” said the man with the gun, though his words wavered in doubt.

“By all means, feel free to stay and see if I’m lying,” said Neil. He cocked his head thoughtfully. “There. You can hear the plane now.”

Andrew could. It was a low hum that was growing steadily louder. The Nazis started to panic as it drew even closer, glancing at each other worriedly. They were too late. Exactly as Neil predicted, the whistle of a falling bomb came from high above. Andrew wrapped himself and Neil in his power and closed his eyes as the building exploded around them.

“Mr. Josten?” he asked sardonically, picking his way through the rubble to Neil’s side.

“I had to choose something,” said Neil distractedly, shifting bricks to look for something. “Humans have last names, Angel.”

“Uh huh,” said Andrew. “Are you going to explain yourself any time soon?”

“Aha!” said Neil triumphantly, pulling a large black bag out of the debris. He opened it to show—“Books!”

“Books?” Andrew crouched down to sort through the books in the bag. “These are rare,” he marvelled. “Books of prophecy. I collect these.”

“I know,” said Neil, giving Andrew a strange look. “When I found out these books were being smuggled out of London…” he trailed off and shrugged. “Well, they’ve been burning books in Germany. I know you don’t like that.”

“Oh,” said Andrew, unsure of what else to say. “Let’s go,” was what he came up with, not wanting to look at Neil’s earnest expression any longer.

They headed back to where Andrew had left his car. Arriving at the still standing stone archway where the church doors had been, he stopped short. And whimpered.

“Oh, no,” said Neil, looking at the wreckage of his car. “Oops.”

“My car,” mourned Andrew. He’d had his Bentley since 1926. He cherished it more than most things in his life. Certainly more than any people he’d ever met.

“I’ll replace it,” said Neil promptly.

“You can’t magic up a 1926 Bentley,” said Andrew. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“I’ll find you a new one,” Neil insisted. “I promise. Trust me.”

“Trusting you was what got my car squashed,” said Andrew, but let Neil gently lead him away from the flaming metal endoskeleton and out into the bomb-scarred London night.

### London, 1967AD

Kevin was droning on about… something (it wasn’t like Andrew was paying attention), when he suddenly cut himself off and said, “What is _that_?” He managed to make it sound like the _that_ in question had both murdered his mother and shat on his shoes.

Andrew briefly glanced up at what had caught Kevin’s attention. “It’s concrete,” he said. Kevin hadn’t been down on Earth much since the Industrial Revolution and nowadays he was always confused by everything. As far as Andrew could tell everyone Above really thought the humans still lived in mud huts.

“Not that,” scoffed Kevin. “I know what concrete is.”

“Do you?” wondered Andrew, genuinely curious. Kevin had been totally thrown off by both the telephone and the cash register, so he really couldn’t say.

“Yes,” said Kevin impatiently. “...It’s rocks, right?”

Andrew shrugged. It’s not like _he_ knew exactly what concrete was made of. It could be rocks.

“Anyway, no, I was talking about that shiny black beast.”

“My car?”

“ _Your_ car? You drive a car? One that looks like it came by express delivery from Hell?”

“It’s a Bentley,” said Andrew, insulted on behalf of his beautiful automobile. “Not a ‘26, of course, but the ‘33 isn’t bad.” Neil had done his best.

Kevin was now looking at _him_ as if he’d murdered his mother and then shat on his shoes.

“Did I say ‘my’ car?” asked Andrew, returning to reading (or at least pretending to read) his book. “I meant that it belongs to… the demon Nathaniel.” He didn’t like using Neil’s original name, but it was the name Above knew him as.

“The demon Nathaniel?” echoed Kevin. “Well that explains the—” he waved his hand vaguely. “General evil emanating from it. What’s it doing here?”

“I let him park here,” said Andrew.

Kevin gaped at him. “Why?! He’s the enemy.”

“And as the enemy, I like to keep my eye on him, see what evil he’s getting up to,” nodded Andrew. “It’s easier to see his comings and goings if I let him a spot.”

Kevin was already nodding along. “I see that,” he said. “Does he live around here?”

“No,” scoffed Andrew. Neil had some weird ideas about acceptable London neighbourhoods in which to live.

“Then why…?”

“It’s London,” said Andrew, as if that explained everything. “Parking spaces are at a premium. Everyone has to take the tube to get to their car.”

Kevin didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t know enough about humans to refute anything Andrew said about them. It was something Andrew had discovered approximately a thousand years ago and he’d taken advantage of it many times to make Kevin believe increasingly outlandish things. Sometimes he threw in true things that sounded fake, just to confuse him further.

“It’s coincidence you bring up that demon,” Kevin said. “We’ve received some alarming news and we want you to look into it.”

“What news?” asked Andrew, trying not to sound overly interested. They couldn’t know about their deal, could they? No, they wouldn’t be giving him a warning if that was the case.

“He seems to be assembling a group of humans to perform a heist,” said Kevin. “You can imagine why agents of Hell actively recruiting humans has us worried.”

“What are they stealing?” Andrew asked. It was probably something stupid. Neil was likely doing it out of boredom.

“We don’t know,” admitted Kevin. “But he is targeting churches.”

“But what’s in a church that he could possibly—” Andrew cut himself off and just managed to stop himself from cursing in front of Kevin. _That_ would earn him a lecture that he had no time for or interest in hearing. He stood, pushing his chair back with a wooden screech across the tiled floor. “I have to go.”

“What, now?”

“Evil is afoot, Kevin,” he said, grabbing his coat and heading out to his car. “Let yourself out.”

He caught Neil coming out of a pub he frequented whenever he was in London. Neil noticed the car right away, did a double take, and then sauntered across the street, leaning down as Andrew rolled the window down.

“Get in,” said Andrew, his tone forbidding and not inviting argument.

Neil only raised an eyebrow, looking amused, and eased himself into the passenger seat. “To what do I owe this lovely surprise?”

Andrew didn’t answer at first, tightening and relaxing his hands into fists. “Glove compartment.”

Neil watched him out of the side of his eyes for a moment before sitting forward and opening the glove box, taking out the well-sealed thermos from within.

“What’s—” he started to ask, reaching to unscrew the lid.

“Don’t,” snapped Andrew sharply. “It’s not safe.”

Neil’s hand stopped moving, his eyes sharpening in understanding. He shook the thermos, listening to the slosh of liquid. “You didn’t.”

“Now you don’t have to steal it.”

“How did you…?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Andrew. “What matters is that you stay off Heaven’s radar. Honestly, stealing holy water from a church? What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that my only source of the stuff refused to give it to me.”

“You know why,” said Andrew through gritted teeth.

“I don’t, actually,” replied Neil. “You never gave a reason beyond saying no.”

“Well, now you have it. You can kill yourself at will.” Andrew schooled his face and stared blankly ahead.

He could see Neil’s features softening in his peripheral vision. “You know I won’t,” he said. “Not unless I have no other choice.”

“You’d better not,” replied Andrew. “Cause I’ll find a way to miracle you back to life just to kill you myself.”

“I know,” said Neil, leaning his head back on the headrest. “Thank you.” His eyes were big and stupid and way too soft for Andrew’s liking.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said gruffly.

“Okay, Angel,” said Neil easily, making no effort to stop.

“What now?” asked Andrew. He felt amped up, adrenaline coursing through him for no discernible reason.

“Drive me somewhere,” said Neil, with a little private smile. “You can go as fast as you want.”

### London, St. James’ Park, One Day Until The End Of The World

“Let’s recap,” said Andrew. Behind him Neil groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Andrew paced back and forth by the pond, his agitation making him unable to remain seated on the bench with Neil. He fumbled with a cigarette, his shaking hands preventing him from lighting it properly. He’d taken up the habit in the nineteen-twenties, especially when anxious. He didn’t like to admit it was because the smoke reminded him of the faint smoke-and-brimstone scent that clung to Neil.

He snarled and turned, only to stop short at how close Neil suddenly was. He offered his lighter, a fond smile on his face. It seemed as if he’d momentarily forgotten about their predicament, or as if he couldn’t help but smile whenever he looked at Andrew.

Andrew crossed his arms and accepted the light. Neil’s expression fell again; he returned to the bench and Andrew glared at the quacking ducks who had started swimming towards them as soon as they were close enough to each other to potentially be having a clandestine meeting.

“We’ve misplaced the Antichrist,” said Neil dully, tipping his head back to stare up at the passing clouds. “Somehow.”

Andrew nodded. _That_ didn’t need to be rehashed. What he wanted to know was how they’d gotten here in the first place. “Eleven years ago, you swapped the Antichrist with the son of the American attache to London,” he prompted.

“Well, I didn’t actually do the switching myself,” said Neil slowly, squinting into the distance. “I handed off the Antichrist to a nun—a _satanic_ nun, Angel, obviously—” he qualified at the look Andrew shot him, “with instructions to swap the babies.”

“An evil _and_ incompetent nun, then,” said Andrew. “That’s where the error must have occurred.”

Neil nodded in agreement. “We would have noticed afterwards.” They’d kept a close eye on the boy they thought was the Antichrist for the past eleven years, influencing him to neither good nor evil, but to the middle ground in the hopes that when it was time for Armageddon he wouldn’t pick a side and it would just… stop. Armageddon wouldn’t happen and everything would go back to normal.

Andrew had always known he’d be around for the End of Days—it was a given, due to his immortality—but he’d always hoped it would never actually get around to happening. Sure, he supposed he was all for the final triumph of Heaven over Hell in _general_ terms, but in practical terms he liked Earth. He even sort of liked humans. He liked food and books and fast cars. He was comfortable in the life he’d built for himself and he had no desire for anything to change. The fact that Neil was irrevocably on the other side of whatever conflict arose between Heaven and Hell didn’t help matters either.

“So,” said Andrew. “In short, the Four Horsemen have started their ride, we’re less than twenty-four hours from the End of the World, we have no idea where the Antichrist is, and have no idea about what choices he’ll make with his power.”

“That about sums it up,” said Neil miserably.

“What are we going to do?” Andrew was not a particularly proactive being. He rarely went out and _did_ things, preferring to remain within the comfort of his shop. Like Neil, he’d gotten commendations and praise for many actions the humans came up with themselves—mainly the extreme acts of bravery or compassion that often resulted from the very same wars and conflicts that Neil always got rewarded for.

“Do?” repeated Neil, sounding incredulously. “What _can_ we do? It’s time to run.”

“Run where?” asked Andrew scathingly. “The _entire world_ is ending. The whole planet is a loss.”

“It’s not the only planet in the universe,” replied Neil. “There are oodles of them out there. I hear the Alpha Centauri system is nice. Or maybe Sirius. We could go there and tell jokes about how even though it’s the dog star at least there aren’t any Hellhounds.”

“Of course your first instinct is to run,” sneered Andrew.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Neil, dangerously quiet.

“Only that you always run at the slightest provocation. You’ve never stayed anywhere for long. You’re always leaving.”

“It’s not like you ever asked me to stay.”

“I never told you my name, either. Somehow you managed to figure it out.”

“That is clearly not the same!” cried Neil, starting a few of the ducks.

“Well, this time you’re not going anywhere. We have to stay and fix this.”

“We can’t fix this!” Neil exclaimed desperately. “We tried and we failed and now it’s past time for us to bail on this whole situation.”

“There is no us,” replied Andrew. “We are enemies who found common ground but if you’re no longer willing to work with me, then we have no reason to continue our deal.”

“Make up your mind, Andrew,” growled Neil. “Either I’m your shiftless nemesis who you can’t stand or you need me to stay and help you.”

“I don’t need you,” said Andrew stubbornly. “I don’t need anyone.”

“Fine,” said Neil, standing abruptly. “I don’t need you, either. I’m going to Alpha Centauri alone and I won’t miss you at all.” He spun on his heel and started marching away purposefully.

“I’ll never even think about you!” Andrew called after him. Once Neil was out of sight he tossed his cigarette into the grass and ground it out with his shoe. “Fuck,” he said, with feeling.

### London, Five Hours and Forty-Eight Minutes Until The End Of The World

Andrew slammed down his telephone. He’d called a number hinted at in one of his many books of prophecy, and had managed to successfully locate the Antichrist. He rubbed his eyes tiredly; he’d been poring over the books since the moment he’d returned from meeting Neil the day previously, shutting their argument out of his mind completely in his single-minded focus.

He glanced around, momentarily at a loss about what to do with the information he’d found. The Antichrist was in the village of Tadfield. Now what? The jingling of the bell on the shop door yanked him out of his indecisive revelry.

He was about to shout that the shop was closed, before the static feeling that heralded another divine being spread across his skin. He let his shoulders slump in relief; Neil had reconsidered.

“I know where the Antichrist is,” he called, stepping out from the back room and freezing completely when he saw who had come calling.

It was Kevin, which wasn’t particularly surprising this close to Armageddon, but for once he wasn’t alone. Andrew’s angelic kin, Aaron and Nicholas, were with him. He hadn’t seen either of them for a literal age, since he’d ignored and provoked them until they’d stopped visiting him altogether.

“You’re late,” said Kevin accusingly. “You were called back to prepare for battle. Why are you still here?”

“Why do you care where the Antichrist is?” added Aaron. He was looking around the shop with a mixture of disdain, suspicion, and curiosity. He’d never set foot in it before.

“So we can find him,” said Andrew. “And stop him. There doesn’t need to be a war.”

“No war?” asked Kevin, clearly baffled. “Of course there’s going to be a war. It’s part of God’s Ineffable Plan.”

“Is it?” challenged Andrew. “Or are you guessing?”

“Well, obviously no one knows exactly what the Plan is,” huffed Kevin.

“Course not,” added Aaron.

“It’s Ineffable,” explained Nicky.

“Then how do you know Her Plan doesn’t involve stopping Armageddon?” countered Andrew.

Kevin laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh, both condescending and belittling. “Don’t be ridiculous, Andrew. We’ve been preparing for the Final Battle since the end of the last War. Of course Armageddon won’t be stopped.”

“But… all the people,” protested Andrew. “Don’t you care? Shouldn’t you? You’re supposed to be the good guys.” He’d been disillusioned about Above’s motives many times (he wasn’t sure he’d ever been illusioned, actually, but he’d thought at least that they _should_ care about protecting the innocent).

“We _are_ the good guys,” said Kevin stoutly. “The righteous among the humans will swell our ranks and the others will perish with their demonic overlords.”

Andrew opened his mouth to argue again, despite knowing that it was futile, when his phone rang, the discordant noise making both Aaron and Nicky flinch in surprise and fright before casting bewildered and distrustful glances at the source of the clamour.

Andrew automatically crossed the distance and picked it up. He always did; there was a chance it could be Neil calling. He probably should have invested in call display or a cell phone, but he still found them too new-fangled. It usually took him at least a couple decades to warm up to new technology.

“Neil?” he asked hopefully. “You already ran into trouble in space?”

“Hey Andrew,” said Neil. “I’m still at home. I decided not to go.” There was something strange in his voice.

“You alone?” asked Andrew, ignoring the curious looks the three unwelcome angels in his shop were shooting him.

“Nah, some old friends are coming by,” said Neil.

“I’ll be there,” said Andrew, not caring that he’d technically ended their deal. Neil was in trouble, he was going to him.

“You’ll be too late,” said Neil casually. “I just called to thank you for everything. You’ve been amazing.”

“Neil—” started Andrew, only to be cut off by the dial tone. He pulled the receiver away from his ear and stared at it in disbelief.

“Who was that?” demanded Aaron. “Who’s Neil? Is a human calling you? Are you _friends_ with a _human_?”

Andrew carefully replaced the phone in its cradle and turned, taking a deliberate step forward. “I have to go,” he said.

Kevin stepped into his path, puffing himself up with all his considerable self-importance. “Go where?” he asked. “You have to come join the Angelic Host.”

Andrew slowly craned his head to look up at Kevin. He didn’t know what expression was on his face, but it made Kevin falter and take a step back. “Get out of my way,” said Andrew lowly.

Kevin opened his mouth to argue before apparently thinking better of it. He looked over his shoulder and shared a look with Aaron before backing out of Andrew’s way.

Andrew grabbed his well-loved brown leather jacket on his way out the door. “You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later,” he lied over his shoulder.

He didn’t wait for a response, sliding into his car—his lovely, precious car that Neil had given him—and peeled away from the curb, leaving the scent of burning rubber in his wake.

He had a suspicion of what had happened. He knew Neil hadn’t informed his superiors when they realized that the boy they thought was the Antichrist wasn’t in fact the Antichrist, instead letting them go ahead with their plans to start the End. Once they realized that the boy they had wasn’t the Son of Satan they would have been furious. Then they would turn that fury on Neil.

He pushed his car to its limits, mindlessly using his power to push all cars and other obstacles out of his path on his way to Neil’s flat. It reminded him of his mad dash across London during the Blitz half a century earlier. That time he’d been successful; he’d saved Neil and gained several rare books. Sure, he’d lost his car, which had hurt, but he was willing to lose even this car that had been with him for over fifty years if it meant getting to Neil on time.

Andrew had never been to Neil’s flat before but he knew its exact location. Neil never spent much time there; whenever they were both in town they’d meet up in a neutral location or, less frequently, at Andrew’ shop. It didn’t take Andrew long before he was pushing his way inside. It was spacious, white, elegantly furnished, and touted a designer unlived-in look that could only be achieved by not being lived in.

And it had a pungent odour of old rot and sulphur.

It was too quiet. “Neil!” he called, disliking the panic creeping into his tone.

There were only three rooms to search; the entrance way/living-dining-kitchen area was open concept and currently empty. The door to the bathroom was open and was small enough that no one could be hiding out of sight. He crossed the room and opened the door to one of the remaining rooms, finding a bedroom. He caught sight of his face in the mirror; he looked very tired, and very pale, and very scared.

He turned away abruptly and braced himself before he opened the door to the office. Just inside the door there was a damp pile of still-steaming clothing in a puddle of water. An upturned bucket lay to the side. This was the source of the smell; it was nearly overpowering this close. It appeared as though someone—a demonic someone—had had a bucket of holy water dropped on their head. He assumed that Neil had set the trap, but that didn’t mean he’d escaped unscathed. If a single drip of the liquid had touched him he would have dissolved the same way as the owner of the clothing had.

In any case, Neil was gone. If he wasn’t dead, he was in the clutches of the worst that Hell had to offer and Andrew had no way of getting him back. His frustration and helplessness slipped into extreme anger. A war was about to start. He would report to the Angelic Host and strap on his gleaming armour and pick up his flaming sword and destroy every Hellbeast until he punished them all for daring to take Neil from him.

He turned to leave, righteous fury roiling through his blood, when he caught sight of the far wall of the office. Hanging there was the only decoration in the flat, a housewarming gift Andrew had given Neil seven decades earlier. It was the early draft of the _Mona Lisa_ Andrew had purchased after his fifteenth century-spanning depression nap. Neil had always liked it, even more than the actual _Mona Lisa_ (it had a better smile, he said), while Andrew had been pretty indifferent. It had been gathering dust in the back of his shop by the time he decided to gift it to Neil.

Andrew had already lost so much today, he had no intention of losing anything more. And if Armageddon went ahead, he’d lose all the things he’d come to appreciate about this stupid, marvelous planet. Art. Music. Books. Cars. Cigarettes.

His vengeance could wait. First he had to try to save the God-Damned world.

### Tadfield Air Base, England, Seventeen Minutes Until The End Of The World

Andrew drove north, to the small country village where the Antichrist lived. It had been difficult getting out of London—portents of the coming apocalypse had led to the entirety of the M25 being on fire—so Andrew had had to use a little miracle to grant his car the ability to fly. For a being who’d originally come into existence sporting wings, Andrew was not a fan of flying. He was going to keep his car on the ground for the foreseeable future.

He followed the signs to the local air base, cataclysmic events pointing his way like a roadmap. Arriving, he found the eleven-year-old Antichrist, backed up by his similarly eleven-year-old friends, facing off against the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. As he cautiously stepped out of his car, not sure what to do, he was taken aback as one of the Antichrist’s human friends made War flicker and fall using only her words. A flaming sword clanged to the ground as War screamed and disappeared.

“Hey, that’s mine,” he realized. No one paid him any attention.

One by one, the Antichrist and his friends stood up to the Horsemen. Andrew realized that the best thing he and Neil had done for the boy was to accidentally misplace him. He’d grown up in a mundane village, with mundane parents and mundane friends. He wasn’t wholly good or wholly evil but instead was wholly human.

Once the Horsemen were dealt with, the ground rumbled underfoot. Andrew knew that the worst was still to come. That the boy’s father was on his way and he was incredibly angry at the loss of his servants.

“What do I do?” asked the Antichrist, sounding exactly like a scared eleven-year-old kid. He looked to Andrew for an answer as he was the only adult present.

“Tell him no,” said Andrew. The Antichrist’s words were currently shaping the world. There was a chance that his power was greater than his father’s.

The Antichrist gave him a look that spoke volumes for his lack of respect for Andrew’s intelligence. Andrew understood his disbelief. He was a kid, he knew that authorities rarely listened. That saying no rarely stopped anyone from doing exactly as they wished.

“It’ll work,” urged Andrew, despite not quite believing it himself.

The Antichrist shrugged, feigning nonchalance, and turned to face the monstrous form of Satan as he dug his way up through the tarmac of the airfield. “No,” he said forcefully. “You are not my father. The world is not going to end. Everything will go back to the way it was.”

The moment hung on a knife’s edge for a moment before reality trembled. The universe obeyed. With a mighty roar, the Adversary was sucked back underground, leaving the ground untouched. The sky turned from red to blue.

“Did that do it?” asked the Antichrist in the ensuing silence.

“I think so,” said Andrew, looking around, more than a little surprised that it had worked. An old station wagon was pulling into the air base.

The Antichrist grimaced. “It’s my dad,” he groaned. “He’s gonna be so mad.”

“You did almost end the world,” Andrew pointed out.

“Yeah, but then he saved it,” argued one of his friends.

“That should cancel out,” added another one.

The Antichrist surveyed Andrew steadily. “You came to help,” he stated. “What do you want in return?”

Andrew opened his mouth to deny it, to say he wanted nothing, but what came out was, “I want Neil back and for them to leave us alone from now on.”

The Antichrist cocked his head in consideration. “You can have him back,” he said. “And they won’t bother you.” Then he turned, head hanging in a simulacrum of shame, to his human father’s car.

Neil popped into being next to Andrew, dressed in torn rags and covered in freely bleeding wounds. He half-shouted in shock and swayed on his bare feet. Andrew steadied him, taking in the injuries on his hands and face.

“Andrew?” Neil whispered, eyes widening as he took him in. “What…?”

“Told you I wouldn’t let them take you,” said Andrew gruffly. He supported Neil’s weight, half because he wanted his hands on him and half because Neil needed it. “Come on,” he said, shuffling them towards his Bentley. “Let’s go home.”

### London, The Very First Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives

On the morning after the End-that-wasn’t, Andrew woke to Neil’s sleep-slackened face. He hadn’t wanted to go back to his flat, to deal with the demon remains staining his floor, so Andrew had brought him home with him.

“Beelzebub,” Neil had said absently, explaining who he’d killed with the holy water. He was staring blankly out the passenger-side window as Andrew drove them back to London. “My father’s favourite. He used to call her Lola. He was angry about her demise.”

Andrew had been impressed. Beelzebub was no small potatoes demon, but a true Prince of Hell.

He noticed a distinct lack of catastrophes on their way home; the Antichrist’s words had rid the world of the rivers of fire and the fish falling from the sky. There were no longer any mythical ocean beasts attacking ships or lost cities rising from the sands. Everything was back to the way it was supposed to be.

Except Neil was in Andrew’s bed.

He blinked sleepily awake, a smile creeping over his face when he saw Andrew watching him. He grimaced as his cheek pulled at the wound on his face—Andrew had cleaned and bandaged his hurts the night before, but they were not ordinary. He hadn’t asked and Neil hadn’t volunteered any information, but nothing on Earth could permanently damage either of them. These scars, Andrew could tell, would never fade.

“Tea?” asked Andrew, climbing out of his bed and trying to pretend that he hadn’t been watching Neil sleep.

Neil hummed in agreement and rolled over, stretching out in the sun spilling across Andrew’s mattress. Andrew shook his head and padded out to his kitchen to put the kettle on. As soon as he lit the stove, two letters were shoved under his front door. He strode over to it and whipped it open, finding no one there.

He glanced around to double check before closing the door again and picking up the letters. One was addressed to him and the other to Neil.

“Neil,” he called, ripping open his own letter.

Neil appeared several seconds later, wreathed in concern, responding to the tone of Andrew’s voice. Andrew wordlessly handed over Neil’s own letter.

It was basically a letter of severance. Andrew was no longer associated with his former employers and they would not pursue any punishment for any of his previous actions. He could not count on their help in the future (not that they’d ever offered it in the past). It was what the Antichrist had promised. They were leaving Andrew alone.

All the colour leached out of Neil’s face as he read his letter. “What’s…” he managed, before trailing off. He looked up at Andrew, eyes lost.

“The Antichrist,” shrugged Andrew. “He said I could have you back and they’d leave us alone.”

Neil blinked once and then fell backwards onto Andrew’s squashy armchair in shock. Andrew thought at first that he’d fainted, but he was sitting still, sightlessly staring into the middle distance. Andrew left him to it and finished brewing the tea.

“We’re free,” said Neil when Andrew forced his cup into his hands.

“Yes,” agreed Andrew.

“I can go anywhere I want, do anything I want, and they can’t stop me.”

“Yes,” said Andrew, heart in his throat. “Where are you going to go?”

Neil’s eyes focused on him. “Lunch,” he said decisively.

“Lunch?”

“Yeah,” said Neil. “Let’s go to the Ritz.”

“Good idea,” agreed Andrew. “I’m a mite peckish. And a table’s suddenly come available on the main dining floor.”

Neil grinned at him, soft and full of something that Andrew couldn’t name but was looking forward to exploring, now they had the rest of eternity. “It’s a miracle.”

**Author's Note:**

> We can be found on tumblr [@gluupor](http://gluupor.tumblr.com) and [@florianem](http://florianem.tumblr.com).


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